


threatening to spill into words

by RhineGold



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: (not a threesome), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Intersex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse, Scenting, Telford/Rush/Young
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-24 21:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30078528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhineGold/pseuds/RhineGold
Summary: Bonds can't be broken, everyone knows that. But maybe they can bend.(A romance with three parts.)
Relationships: Nicholas Rush/David Telford, Nicholas Rush/Everett Young
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Icarus, Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Talla_Doe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Talla_Doe/gifts), [ATreeFullOfStars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATreeFullOfStars/gifts).



> Inspired by the two listed. Your brainstewing means more than you can possibly know.

He can tell it's coming before Rush even does. There's a hint of sweetness in the air when he steps past the man to get into the shower. Rush is wearing his somewhat shabby blue bathrobe, leaning over the palm-smeared mirror to shave. The sweetness is barely detectable over the scent of shampoo and shaving lotion. But it is there. He doesn't say anything though, merely steps into the shower, still naked from sleep, wondering how long it will take him to figure it out. 

~*~

The next time he sees Rush, it's half-past two and he's bringing him a plate of meatloaf (still warm, even though lunch was two hours ago) and an extra-large coffee (black). Rush is sitting at his computer at the desk they both sort-of share, left arm raised to rub at his own shoulder as he types with the right. Code is reflected in his glasses, but he is typing slower than usual, pausing every now and then to adjust his glasses and scowl at his own hair. And he still hasn't figured it out yet.

"Nicholas," He says, plopping the food down (which Rush promptly ignores) and dangles the coffee (which Rush reaches for with both hands). "Ah-ah-ah!" He tuts gently. "Food first." 

Now comes the baleful look that tugs at his heart even as it stirs something else entirely. Especially with that soft, sweet scent, stronger now, but still barely detectable. "'m not hungry," Rush says grouchily, but he takes the fork and begins to eat anyway. He likes to watch Rush eat. It's good for him, for one. Rush is slight already and his poor self-care routines do nothing to enhance his figure (the cigarettes, the coffee, the forgetting or just plain refusing to eat unless prompted). It's also enticing to watch him work his long throat, actually savoring things once he's actually considered eating them. 

He demolishes the food in record time, something the other man knows has nothing to do with real hunger. Not yet anyway, but he'll need his strength. He gives him the coffee as promised and eats up the way Rush sighs as the caffeine hits his bloodstream. He wonders how many cigarettes Rush has had today. Gently reaching down, he runs his knuckles through Rush's hair, and he leans into the gesture, still drinking down his coffee. His eyes flutter closed and he sighs, holding the cup in both hands. 

"How are you feeling today?" He asks him softly, voice pitched low even though they are the only ones in the room. 

"Bit... on edge," he admits finally, taking another long drink of the coffee. The coffee is a bad idea, he knows (though Rush would never agree). But it takes so little to make the other man happy that this seems like a small sacrifice to make. 

He makes a show of feeling the other man's forehead. "You do feel a little warm."

"It's hot in here," Rush complains sourly, tugging at the neck of his grey button-up shirt. The top three are already undone, giving the other man a nice eyeful of the smaller man's collar bones from this angle. 

"Feels fine to me."

"Well you don't sit behind a computer all day!" He snaps, voice sounding hoarse already. 

"You want to take a break? Maybe take a walk?"

Rush knows this is an invitation to go outside and smoke, so he nods, looking embarrassed at his outburst. "Yes, I think I'd like that," he murmurs, raising the coffee one more time and draining the cup. 

~*~

When they're standing outside of the base, both leaning on the railing, he can smell him even more strongly than before. Not enough that Rush would have noticed, but it's there (because Rush never notices these things before it's too late).

"How many of those are you going to have?" He gestures to Rush's third cigarette, held between fingers that are shaking already. Rush probably just thinks it's the coffee, he thinks with a small smile that must show on his face.

"As many as I bloody well please!"

Lifting his hands in surrender, he lets Rush smoke. The scent of the cigarettes (earthy, familiar) blends nicely with Rush's own scent (water and a hint of the roses in his body lotion). And the third scent, (faintly cinnamon, faintly green apple peel), which even Rush has to be starting to notice by now. He takes another long drag off the hand-rolled cigarette, pinched carefully between two fingers on his right hand, shoving his hair back from his face with the other. He is sweating lightly and his hair is starting to darken with it. 

Suddenly the cigarette falls from his fingers, down, down, off the side of the mountain, swept away by the strong winds. 

"You knew," he says, part confused, part cross.

"Of course I did." He actually chuckles at that. Rush _never_ notices these things.

"How long?" He sounds calmer now but now both hands are pawing at his hair.

"Since this morning. We have a little time." 

Turning on him neatly, Rush grabs him by the collar of his military jacket, "I don't want to wait that long."

~*~

He positively _herds_ Rush to their room, crowding him and tripping him up on purpose so he can manhandle him back to correctness. They pass a few people in the halls and Rush is flushed from something that is not entirely his condition, but they just offer small smiles or ignore them entirely. Everyone knows how this works by now. He's already put in the necessary notice with his and Rush's people. 

When they get to the room, Rush fumbles for the door lock, typing and retyping the keycode in almost frantically. For Rush to be forgetting numbers, he thinks, things must be getting pretty bad fast. It was a good thing they came back inside when they did then. (Maybe Rush does know some things about this after all). Taking the smaller man's hands in both of his, he spends a moment massaging the backs of both palms, letting his fingers thread with Rush's in an intimate, tender gesture. It's not just his hands that are shaking, he realizes. It's his whole body. 

Letting go of his hands with a slow, long untangling process, he raises one to kiss. Rush's skin is electric and he can taste that cinnamon instead of just smelling it. He nearly groans but gets ahold of himself at the last moment. Releasing him, he reaches then to unlock the door, the panel sliding open with a pneumatic hiss. Before he can shove the smaller man inside, Rush is turning in his arms like a wildcat, hands coming up to rake at his throat and cheek as he slams their mouths together for a messy, sloppy kiss. It's not just a show of force. It's a declaration of war. 

Grabbing the man by the back of the throat, he throws him onto the nearby bed so hard he bounces, slamming his hand over the door panel and making a show of locking it. Crossing the room like a panther stalking its prey, he circles the bed, watching intently as Rush's eyes track over every line of his lean body. Biting his lip, Rush looks away. 

And that's all the invitation he needs.

Dropping onto the bed, he shoves one knee between Rush's legs, splaying them apart, grasping both of his forearms in each fist. He scents him first, that damned cinnamon and apples, warm and pleasing, familiar as air at this point, but still infinitely as pleasing as the very first time. Rush's pupils are blown wide behind his glasses (which are going have to go soon, before things get too out of hand), and he stares up at the other man with the same undisguised fascination that comes with every cycle. He looks so young and so lost and it pangs his chest for a minute. He knows he isn't his first, probably might not even be his best, but by-God, when Rush looks at him like that, he feels the strongest he ever has in his life. 

Crushing the man under him with his fists, he makes Rush yelp, leaning down to bite at that soft lip before barreling his way into a kiss that's so hot it seems it scorches his mouth. They maintain like that for some time, him holding Rush in an almost too-painful grip, their mouths sliding wet and hot against each other. Rush's noises are obscene, moans and little hitches of breath when he can suck in some air. His whole body is shaking, trembling in the other man's strong arms. When he finally breaks the kiss, they both gasp for a moment, trying to catch their respective breaths. 

Releasing Rush's left arm, he reaches down to tug gently on the bridge and right lens of Rush's glasses. He lets him take them off, tilting his head up to make it easier. This wouldn't be the first pair they've broken, but it's harder to get those kinds of things out here, so they have to be careful. (As though they are ever careful). When the glasses have been set on the nearby nightstand, he finds Rush is still tilting his head, to the side now, exposing his throat. It's an invitation, he knows, and as close to begging as Rush is ever going to get. 

Slamming back down on him, he makes him yelp again, this time a breathy scream, (right in his ear) as he sinks his teeth right into Rush's scent gland. "-David!"

"Be quiet, Nicholas," he purrs, letting his hand slide up the man's body to push his sweat-slicked hair from his face. "I'm going to take good care of you..."

Rush nods, exhaling shakily. "...You always do..."

~*~


	2. Icarus Part II

He tries to remember how this all even started. 

He'd come to Icarus base alone, unwanted and left cut-adrift after Gloria's death. The first time without her, he'd spent in a heat clinic in Berkeley, trying to fill a void in his heart that felt completely shut off and dead. And then, when the heat had ended, he'd been swept away by Homeworld Command to a secret base under a mountain in Colorado in order to solve a puzzle that had eluded the best they'd thrown at it. He spent most of his days on the computer or working on his equations on his overly large whiteboard. It had been easy to fall into that soft pattern of almost drudgery. And then the next cycle began.

There had been discussions, some he was privy to, and some that happened (sometimes literally) over his head, while he waited, twisting and sweating, as they tried to decide what to do with him. Some of the commanders wanted him sent home, at least for the duration, or remanded to an unused portion of the base at the very least. Some of them, mostly betas, had spoken very adamantly against this. They had argued back that he was a liability, that he was in danger and endangering everyone else on the base, just by _existing_ in this state. There were no omegas in the military, after all, and all the other scientists and human resources personnel were also betas or alphas themselves. He'd been allowed as an exception, because he was exceptional. Except now that was a problem again. He sat in that stifling office for god-knew-how-long, before finally someone had approached him.

He could smell the alpha on him, roiling up in response to all the omega scent he was spreading. "Hey," the stranger had said, bending down to kneel next to him, so he wasn't looming over him, caging him in. It was a nice gesture, he had realized, and one that spoke of a great deal of self control. Half of the staff had needed to leave the area for his own safety already.

"What are you going to do with me?" He'd asked, knowing he was crying because of the way his glasses fogged and spotted.

"Nothing." Had come the gentle reply. The man had taken one of his trembling hands in both of his. "Unless you want it to."

"Are you talking about...?" He had been unable to finish the thought. No one would do that, he thought. It was too risky, too dangerous, for both of them. But it would have been nice, he had realized, to be wanted again, instead of being another burden to the people around him again. 

"It's not permanent," The man had promised. "Just enough to see you through. I can help you. Let me help you."

He had nodded, head feeling loose and heavy at the same time, had felt the claws of need spreading through him tighter in response to that alpha scent.

"You're Nicholas, right? My name is Telford. David Telford. And I'm not going to hurt you, okay?"

And he hadn't.

Those first few heats fell into a routine after that. When he felt it come on, usually every six months or so, he'd seek out David, and together, they would go, hand-in-hand to Rush's own room, and there they had remained until it had passed. David had been attentive, had been gentle when he asked for it and rough when he'd asked for that too. But David had never bit him, only scented his glands, never claiming, never taking. He just gave and gave, endlessly of himself. It had been easy to fall in love.

When the day came that he had admitted this, it hadn't been during a heat. It had been in a small hallway off the side of their offices. He'd asked David to follow him, and the man had. He had seen the confusion and the apprehension on his face. Seen the wonder and affection on his face when Rush had kissed him. "I love you" had been easy to say. It had been hard to wait for a reply. Instead of using words, David had kissed him back, hugging him fiercely, making him feel warm and safe, cocooned in the other man's body heat like he did during his own heats. And then, gently, oh-so-gently, David has let his head slip to the side, until his face hovered over Rush's scent gland. There wasn't much to smell when he wasn't in heat, but there must have been enough. Opening his mouth just slightly, he'd placed his teeth just above the gland, sucking the flesh there into a blossom of red. Letting his mouth drop slowly lower, he'd been right over his gland, making him make an undignified noise that he tried to clamp down on before it could express. He'd failed. 

"If you still want this," David had said softly, intimately, "Then when it's time, I promise you I'll do right by you, Nicholas."

And he had.

~*~

He lays back against the pillows and lets David finish undressing him. The button-up has been undone and lies on either side of his chest, arms still in the sleeves. David likes that look, he knows. Says it makes him look more debauched. He doesn't think he could feel more so. His pants are completely stripped away at last, and David is crawling up his body, stealing another hot, deep kiss. Rush moans into that kiss, clutching at the other man with both hands, lifting his head in an effort not to be left behind when David pulls away. 

"How do you want it?" David pants in his ear. "Rough or tender?"

He laughs, the sound nearly swallowed up by the way their breathing is on top of one another. "Why not both?" And David is laughing back, clutching his shoulders again, pinning him once again to the bed. 

"I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't remember what an equation even is," He murmurs in the other man's ear, making him shiver.

"I know a lot of equations," Rush answers, voice challenging. David bites him on his scent gland then, reminding him sharply and warmly of their bond. It's strong and healthy and Rush loves it. Loves David, loves the way he holds him down and devours his mouth, like he's doing now. Loves the tender touches he visits upon his hair, petting gently through the longer locks. It feels good when he's sweating and needy, when his hair is stringy and damp. David's hair is short and he can never find any purchase in it, so he clutches at his shoulders instead. He's stripped down to his tee-shirt but he's still wearing his pants. He likes Rush to be half-clothed while he's fully dressed, and Rush finds the idea incredibly hot as well, though he could never express why. He cries out when David's mouth slips from his back to his scent gland for another bite, this one deeper and bruising. "Don't stop..." He whimpers, thrashing in the other man's grip even as he begs for more. David likes it when he begs, too.

Smirking, David pulls back and slides his hands down Rush's shoulders until he's holding his wrists, and lifts them above his head easily. Pinning him with one hand, he uses the other to reach for the hem of Rush's underpants. He's wearing boxers today, thank God, and it's easy for the other man to slip a finger inside. Rush goes still as he slides is finger, just the tip across his slit. It's puffy now, opening with his heat, and he knows what he'll need soon. But David likes to savor it, likes to tease him. And by God, he likes it too. 

"You're so wet for me," He murmurs appreciatively. The finger slips into his folds, making Rush cry out. He strains against the grip on his wrists, trying to thrust his body higher to take the finger deeper. In response, David removes the finger entirely, making a tutting noise in his ear. "Now, now, let's not be greedy," he teases, before dancing two fingers over his vulva. Rush cries out, an undignified squeak that would embarrass him if he weren't past caring at this point. "Do you want it, Nicholas?" He asks, voice cool and collected, even as his omega is falling apart in his hands. 

"Please!" Rush cries, thrusting his hips upwards, managing to stab the fingers inside of him, before David is shoving his hips down roughly with an arm like iron, pressing against his stomach and knocking the wind out of him. 

"No, no, no, Nicholas." He says calmly, tracing the slit gently and with light drags against his most sensitive flesh. Rush can feel his shaft starting to fill, his erection rising between them, pressing against David's stomach where he's laying half-over him. "Don't be greedy now," he says again, before leaning down to give him another searing kiss. Teeth glance over his gland, making him positively keen with desire. He wants this so much, _needs_ this so much. And he knows that David is going to give it to him. The only question is how far he's going to take it, how much he's going to unmake him first. And he knows David _lives_ for that moment, when he can't take it anymore and screams with pleasure and need. And he knows he's going to give it to him. 

David releases his wrists now, his other hand going to his erection now, squeezing it lightly before reaching up to tease with the foreskin. Rush moans, trying not to buck into that hand, knowing David will just smack him back down again if he tries. And he doesn't want him to stop, not for _anything_.

"Do you like this, Nicholas?" He asks, letting his fingers slip, just the tips, inside him. He's so wet, he knows, he can feel it building up inside of him, the slick and the heat and the raw, raw _want_. When the hands move in tandem, stroking his foreskin down as the fingers finally breach fully inside him, he lets out a sound that is more scream than anything else. "I think you do..." He chuckles, crooking his fingers inside him, making him gasp. "I think you love this, you little filthy thing." Thrusting his fingers back and forth lightly, never going very deep, just petting the upper insides of his folds, he continues, "You do love it, don't you? Tell me."

"No," He grits out, trying to salvage a sliver of dignity. David grips his penis roughly, his grip bruising, as he begins to move his hand, the drag dry and painful. He gasps with the pain of it, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to keep the noises from spilling out of his mouth. The hand slips free of his vulva, reaching up now for his throat. He can smell himself, smell his own slick, when David begins to throttle him. 

"Tell me the truth, Nicholas." He says darkly, squeezing him harder in both places. "Tell me you love it."

"...Fuck... you..." He manages, past the huge lump being caused in his throat. 

"Wrong answer," He says, voice going deeper, taking on that deep growl that Rush loves so much. He can see spots behind his eyes from the strangulation, and for some reason, this always makes him harder, makes him wetter. He never knew he liked this until David tried it once, tentatively, with gentle pressure. There is no gentleness in this pressure now, and he knows he will have bruises in the morning. He relishes it. The hand leaves his hard, hard flesh, and grabs his hips, twisting them and forcing him on his side. He goes with the movement, allowing himself to be pushed onto his stomach. 

The hand lets go of his throat and he gasps out a breath at last. And David has removed himself from his own pants, stroking his own erection. He knows because he can _hear_ it. There's no foreskin to rub, but he can hear the slick of precome and his little grunts and sighs as he touches himself. It's incredibly arousing, even if he can only hear it. And then the penis is being slapped against him, landing in his crease, being pressed between his arsecheeks. He yelps at the sensation, even though he'd known it was coming because it's happened before. Rubbing himself against him, David leans over his smaller body, curving over him in a perfect fit, running his teeth along the backs of his shoulders, making him shudder. "You still remember your equations, Nicholas?" He whispers, voice full of menace and of promise. He shudders again, out of excitement this time. 

The penis is sliding back down him, and into the gap between his thighs, pressing against his slit, but the angle is wrong for him to enter him. Instead, he presses into the folds with the length of his member, pressing the puffed lips apart, making Rush groan. It's intercrural now, the way David lets himself slide back and forth, lubricated by the slick pouring out of him. It's teasing and almost gentle, in direct contrast to the darkness in his lovers voice. ("Why not both?" he'd asked and it being delivered with expert precision). He moans with the sensations, too much and not enough, all at the same time. It feels so good and he feels so _wanted_ that it almost hurts. The hands on his hips are still rough, squeezing and pinching, but he's being so gentle with the thrusts he's making, making Rush groan and whimper with each stroke. "You like that, huh?" He asks softly, pausing for a moment, listening to the way Rush cries out with the loss. "I knew you liked it. You don't have to tell me out loud. Your body's saying everything, you filthy little bitch."

Rush makes a sharp noise at that. He doesn't like being called that, but he knows David loves it so he lets it slide. (Just this once, he tells himself, though it's been a thousand times). The thrusts begin, so slowly that he cries and keens with it. Just barely moving, David is kissing his shoulders now, reaching up to pet his fingers through his hair, not yanking or pulling, just combing gently. He loves this, loves having his hair stroked, loves the warmth and strength of those fingers against his tender scalp. Being in heat electrifies every bit of his body, but the weight of his hair makes his scalp particularly sensitive and David knows that intimately (as much as he knows the rest of his body). 

"You're beautiful," he whispers into his hair, kissing the top of his head before bending down to bite and suck against the back of his throat, leaving red blossoms that will match the dark bruises on the front. He shivers, from the words and from the bites. David _loves_ him, he knows, heart clenching. And he loves David too. 

"I love you," Rush whispers back, turning his head to look at him. 

"You're wonderful," he answers, kissing him on the mouth again. It's hot and deep, making Rush's toes curl with the intensity. He can feel his hips drawing up, meeting David's leisurely thrusts, and it isn't long before he is roiling his hips, trying to make him go faster, knowing he's close. David obliges, moving his body with more urgency now, trying to get him exactly where he wants him. With a hoarse scream, Rush is coming against the sheets, come spooling out of him as he ejaculates and rubs himself raw. "There's a good boy," David praises him, kissing him lightly before peppering more kisses all over his face and throat. "I knew you'd come for me, you little thing. Knew you loved it."

"I do," he admits shakily, still twisting in the need to come again, come more, come harder. He wants David inside him, but he doesn't know how much he'll have to beg first. "I love it," he replies again, squeezing his hips to trap David in place, just between his folds. "...Love you..."

"I love you, too, Nicholas," he gets his answer at last, as gentle hands run a ring around his throat, chasing the blooming bruises on his neck, front and back. He knows David won't strangle him again today, is too afraid to do it too much and too hard. He doesn't want Rush to actually pass out. (Not from that, anyway). "But I'm afraid you still remember your equations. I'm going to fix that right now."

Turning him back around lay on his back, sweaty hair leaving a damp smear across the pillows, a light sheen of sweat has already broken out all over his body, making him tremble and writhe. David has started to smell more and more alpha as the ministrations and abuses have continued, and his omega blood is rising to the exchange, making him wetter and wetter, more and more desperate. "Make me forget," He growls, his own voice surprising him with how throaty it has become.

Parting his legs without a hint of the gentleness he'd just displayed, David grins down at him. "It would be my pleasure," he replies with a toothy grin, just before slamming down into his body, making Rush _scream_ as he enters him fully, all the way deep inside of him. He tries to clamp his legs shut but David keeps them pried open, hands bruising on his thighs, just above his knees. He sets a brutal rhythm, wringing gasps and moans and little screams of pleasure and pain from his omega. "My omega," he growls himself, alpha scent nearly smothering Rush as he breathes as deeply as he can, struggling to get as much of that intoxicating scent. He can smell himself too, scenting hard and thick in the air, spurning David to thrust faster and harder into his slender body. He can't take much of this pace for long, he knows, feeling that same pleasure building, this time deep inside. "Mine, mine," David is groaning and snapping, digging deeper into him, twisting and swiveling his hips, making Rush cry out with every stroke. Finally something in Rush snaps and he is screaming, head thrown back, throat standing out as he bends his neck to the extreme, his back arching the same way, hips rising as his innermost muscles clamp down on the penis so deep inside him. He can feel the knot now, edging around his lips, filling with every thrust, as his orgasm makes him scent stronger and thicker, covering even David's alpha smell. 

"You want it, don't you?" David snarls, pressing his flesh just inside of Rush's. "Tell me how much you want it!" 

"More than... more than anything..." he is sobbing, throwing his arms up to cover his face as the tears begin to flow. 

"No, no, no," He grabs Rush's arms, tugging them down and pinning them there beside his head, one hand pressing each wrist into the thick mattress. "I want to see you. Want to smell you. Want you... I'm going to fuck you, Nicholas. You can't stop it so you might as well give in..."

"Yes, please, please...!" He doesn't care that he is begging, doesn't care that he is sobbing. He just wants it, wants what he can feel barely brushing against him. And then, in one deep and brutal thrust, David does it - forces the thick knot into his delicate flesh, bruising and battering him as he screams and cries. David is licking the tears off his cheeks, grazing his teeth over Rush's cheekbone. 

"Take it," He snaps, leaning down to bite everywhere _but_ Rush's glands. "You take it all. And thank me for it."

"Please, yes... yes..."

"Beg me for it, Nicholas." He instructs, sucking a bloom of red against his strangle-bruised flesh. "Beg me to fill you up and make you mine."

"I'll do anything," he sobs, quaking and coming around the knot, squeezing the engorged flesh in a vise-like grip. "Anything you want, anything you say... Please David, I need... I need..."

"And you'll have it," he promises, kissing his mouth again, bruising his lips as well. It only takes a few more savage thrusts, bludgeoning his way through the orgasm-tightened flesh. "You'll have it all."

The only warning he gets is the brutal way David clamps his mouth over his scent gland, biting down and twisting his mouth so the skin tears and bleeds. Rush is screaming, shrill and harsh, gasping for air he can't quite keep down, and the knot in him is growing thicker and thicker, making him part his own legs with an attempt to make more room for it. The bite only grows stronger, teeth harsh and owning, and he is coming again as David does, filling with rope after rope of hot, hot semen. It bottles up inside of him as the knot flares, making his muscles give out and his body go slack from the shock of it. It's always too much, just too much, and he can barely stand it but he never wants it to stop. 

They stay like that, trapped together in a lover's embrace, held by David's knot and Rush's clenched muscles, the only part of his body still capable of holding tight to anything. He wants it, wants to keep it all - the come, the heat, the knot, _David_. If he had known this would be the last time, he would have done something, anything differently. He would have made it count more somehow. But he doesn't know and he doesn't know how to give more than he's given. There's blood on David's lips as he clutches his soaking hair to pull him into another breath-taking kiss. 

~*~


	3. Destiny Part I

It isn't even a priority. 

There's so much to think, so much to do, so much to _miss_. He longs for gentle hands combing through his hair, for coffee being offered in exchange for food, for cigarettes and conversations. For kisses in the dark in the mornings and before bed. He misses the sex. He misses _David_. He's there, sometimes, in Colonel Young's body, but he never touches him, never kisses him, never corners him. They barely even speak and they never tell one another that they love each other. There is work to be done and lives to be saved and it isn't a priority.

Until one day, he knows it suddenly is.

He sits, waiting on Colonel Young's sofa, staring at his lap. Finally, after an eternity, the man enters the room, rubbing a palm over his face when he thinks he is alone. Rush clears his throat and Young actually jumps in surprise. "Rush," he says, not snapping, but not sounding pleased either. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"We've been here for 178 days," he answers quietly, still staring at his tightly clasped hands. His fingers are white now from the force of it. 

"And?" The retort is uncalled for, but nothing between them is ever called for, he thinks. But suddenly understanding filters over Young's face when their eyes meet. "You gotta be kidding me."

"Do you think I would even be here if this wasn't... wasn't serious?" His own voice is sharper now, but he cannot stop clutching his bloodless hands. He's never been good at predicting these things, but he has always been excellent at math and he knows they are running out of time.

"We've got to get David here," Young says simply, voice sounding calmer than he looks.

"D'you really think that's going to work?!" He grits out, voice taking on what he tries to keep a hard, not shrill, edge. 

"Jesus, Rush. What else can we do?" He sounds more defeated now, more unsure.

"Bonds don't work that way." He can hear the finality in his own voice.

"So what? We just... let someone rape you? We just let you _die_?!" Young is nearly shouting now, drawing Rush to his feet at last. His hands are bloodless and numb as they fist at his sides. 

"I don't know!" It's easy to match his angry tone, to think of something besides the points the other man has raised. A ship full of alphas, and one lone omega, scenting and tempting everyone near him. And one that's been bonded, been bonded _twice_. Gloria had died, ending their bond, but David... David is still very much alive, but billions of miles away. He doesn't know what to do.

"I'll have to do it," Young says quietly, completely at odds with the way he'd just been loud and angry.

"You'll what?!"

"It'll be David - it's got to be David. But... We've got to try to make this work; the stones..."

It's an inelegant solution, and one that neither of them is sure is going to work. But they have to try.

~*~

Young is sitting across from Telford, wearing someone else's skin. If this bothers the other man, he isn't showing it. He isn't showing much of anything at all. David's always been an excellent poker player, he knows, knows when to bluff and when to keep neutral. He's completely neutral now. 

"It's Rush," he begins simply, clasping both hands, elbows on the table.

"What about Rush?" David asks a little too quickly. Young hears nothing in his voice but he knows he has the other man's complete attention.

"He's running out of time." 

Swearing, David swipes a hand through his hair, mirroring the thing Rush does with his own when he's nervous or jumpy about something. And David looks nervous now - looks upset.

"You had to know this was coming," he continues, watching the way the other man slips a neutral mask back into place just as quickly as the original had crumbled. 

"I thought... Goddamnit, Everett. I thought the distance, the lack of connection..." He runs his hand across his close-cropped hair again, and the control cracks once more. 

"He's still your omega. There's nothing we can do about that."

The look he gives him would have been cool if his eyes weren't so plaintive. "So what _are_ we going to do about it?" 

"We're going to try."

~*~

He's laying in Young's bed, already in a light sweat, locked away from the rest of the ship for the foreseeable future. Staring up at the ceiling, he considers taking his jeans off and touching himself, but that isn't enough and sometimes only serves to make him feel _worse_. When the door opens with the grating, unlocking sound, he sits up on his elbows, body already beginning to shake. Colonel Young enters the room, but he can tell from the body language that it isn't him, as the man closes and locks the door.

"David," he breathes, voice a ghost of a whisper. "You came."

"How could I stay away?" The inflection is right but the voice is all wrong, but somehow, it's enough.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" He asks sadly, thinking of all the times they've barely spoken, never touched. 

David comes to sit beside him on the bed, reaching one hand out to thumb over his cheekbone, making him tilt his head to lean into that touch. This exposes his neck, scent gland pumping stronger into the air. He nearly moans when he feels that alpha scent, so intoxicating but so wrong, rising into the air.

"I thought the bond was broken," he admits softly, still petting across his cheek with gentle fingers. "I thought the distance, the inability to connect, to share... Had broken things beyond repair."

"They haven't," he whispers, curving his face until he's pressing a kiss to the hand touching him. Young's body feels, tastes, wrong. But he can see David in that flesh, and it's enough for now. It's enough.

~*~

When David kisses him, there's stubble on his face that is unfamiliar. The shape of his jaw, the taste of his saliva, the thickness and length of his tongue. It's all different. He lays back and closes his eyes. Tries to pretend. The earnestness and the masterfulness speaks of rightness, of home. Of David. But this feels too much like Young. 

He feels sick with it, and David doesn't even bother to ask how he wants it. He holds him gently, using those strong hands to stroke down his stomach, his sides. He treats him like a treasure, like he's made of glass. He feels like glass, feels thin and spread by the wind, but there's nothing here but the faint, recycled air and the stillness of his own body. At David's urging, he slips out of his jeans, letting his underwear (briefs this time, so no easy access, not that he'd want that kind of thing anyway, not like this) come with them, landing in a pile on the floor beside the bed. His legs are thin and covered in the soft, almost blond hair that covers most of his body. He's lost weight during his time on Destiny, and he wonders how David feels about that. Is he disgusted? Is he concerned? He doesn't ask. He doesn't really want to know. He keeps both of his shirts on, even though he's soaking them with scent and sweat. It's too warm for them, but the idea of being naked under Colonel Young's body terrifies him. All of this terrifies him. It's not right. 

When David lets his fingers rub, gently and feather-light, against his folds, he shivers, feeling a sliver of ice cut through all of his heat. He keeps his eyes closed tightly, trying not to let them fill with tears, trying not to see the man who is there and the man who is not. "I love you," David whispers, but it sounds too deep, too husky, in another man's throat. He whimpers in response, not able to voice what he's feeling. David seems content with his lack of reply.

It's too soon, far too soon, before the penis (uncircumcised, so alien) is entering him. David hasn't been able to coax a penile orgasm out of him and has apparently given up trying. He's still hard, but it's been rough going to get him there. At least he hasn't tried to use his mouth, he thinks desperately. He doesn't think he could have handled that. Young's penis sinks into him, feeling like David's measured thrust. The dichotomy is too confusing, too unreal. He can feel the corners of his mind unravelling with this. The familiarity, the utter difference. It's too much and he can feel the tears flowing from his still-closed eyes. The thrusts are slow and as gentle as the rest of the touches have been, making him moan with the stimulation, no matter who it feels like is doing it. He's hot, he's wet, he's ready. The scent of him, of both of them, is heady and intoxicating (even if Young's scent is oh-so-wrong) - it's an alpha, an alpha inside and owning him and that feels like enough. 

David's familiar rhythm makes him cry out, clutching the blankets in both fists, lifting his hips to meet him. This part feels right, even if the shape and size of the flesh inside him isn't right at all. He can feel himself coming, sobbing with it, tears slipping free to cover his face. David kisses his cheeks, murmuring sweet nothings in the wrong, wrong voice, husky with desire and reverence. Lips chase his tears and a mouth kisses them away. Rush doesn't open his eyes, can't bear to dispel the illusion. Barely-there lips are hard to pinpoint, easier to pretend. But he can't look, can't see, can't bear the body of the man above him. 

When the knot comes, he braces himself, internally and externally, tensing in a way he hasn't since the first time David helped him through his heat, all those years ago in Cheyenne Mountain. It slips inside him anyway, pulling and bruising his vulva and the entrance of his vaginal folds. When he moans, David fucks into him harder, pushing it deeper inside. The girth and shape are wrong, the most wrong thing he's felt so far, but his body is coming again anyway, desperate for something to hold on to. When David comes, the knot inflates, making him scream with it, legs kicking under the ones braced on either side of him, unable to find any purchase on the slick blankets. He doesn't even consider it before it happens, panics with it and screams again, this time in distress, when David bites, automatically, perhaps without thinking, into his scent gland. There is pain then, unbelievable pain, making his eyes snap open, seeing only Colonel Young's hair as the teeth sink deeper. His own orgasm is ripped from him unwillingly, as the knot inside him locks, the semen filling him with a familiar and alien stickiness. Sobbing in earnest now, he goes limp under the man above him, eyes closing again, unable to keep them open after the power of his orgasm and the shock to his own body. 

David hauls his teeth free, kissing him firmly on the mouth, offering no chance of resistance. When he's finished, he buries his nose in Rush's scent gland, inhaling and gasping. "I love you," he murmurs again, in a voice all wrong and so right at the same time.

"I love you too," Rush whispers, unable to keep his voice from quaking with the reply. 

~*~


	4. Destiny Part II

The next time he sees Colonel Young, everything feels unbearably awkward. He knows Young doesn't remember, can't recall the scent, the feel, the _taste_ of him. But he knows all of those things (and more) about Young.

It isn't until later, far too soon later, that he feels something different about himself. He starts running his hands through his hair more, finding it sweaty and heavy in his fingers, the fine hair becoming stringy and damp. He's thoroughly washed his clothes, wearing a pair of fatigues for a week as he scrubs them again and again. But almost as soon as he's wearing them, he can still smell it. Just faintly, just barely. If he hadn't known what he was looking for, he never would have noticed it.

But it isn't his usual omega scent, sweet and cloying. It's an alpha scent. A powerful and owning one. It's Young's.

~*~

"This is wrong," he says quietly, waiting for TJ to finished with the damned blood pressure cuff. 

"Your pressure is extremely elevated, especially given your normal vitals," she comments, voice cool and clinical. 

"It's wrong," he tries again, more forcefully this time. "It's not... this is not the right time... for... It's only been 29 days!"

"It's certainly not average," TJ nods then, writing something on her computer tablet before listening to his chest with her stethoscope. "I need you to take a series of deep breaths for me."

He does as he's told, balling his hands into fists. 28 days. It's supposed to be 180. _180_. Every six months. Not every damned month. That's... "This is insane," he murmurs, choking on the next deep breath. 

With a sigh, she loops the stethoscope over her neck again. "It's highly irregular, but then, so is your situation. Your alpha is _galaxies_ away. Even the temporary solution with stones is still just that - temporary and unexplored. We don't know how long it's going to work, even if it works again at all."

"It has to!" His sudden burst of anger only serves to exhaust him, making him paw at his hair again. It's too hot in here, in both of these shirts. "Would you turn around please?" He asks quietly. Nodding, TJ does so without a word. As quickly as he can, he strips off both shirts, tugging them apart until he has just the dark olive shirt. Yanking it over his head, he sighs at the small bit of coolness this allows. Clenching his hands on the long-sleeved, cream coloured shirt, he tells her she can turn back. If she's surprised by his wardrobe shuffling, she doesn't say anything. 

"I'm going to have Colonel Young contact Colonel Telford again, via the stones." It sounds so simple when she says it, but he knows it's not. He's not sure if he can stand Young's body over - inside - him again. Not sure how he stomached it the first time. But he can't do this alone. Someone is going to take - someone is going to _hurt_ him if they don't do this again. Or else, given the extreme pressure on his body after having been bonded for so long, he could even _die_. They have to do this again. He needs Colonel Young.

"Okay," he says shakily, still wringing his hands on his shirt, not caring if he's stretching the sleeve. "Okay."

~*~

He can't bring himself to lay on the bed this time, hands playing with the hem of his tee-shirt as he waits. The long-sleeved shirt has been thrown over his shoes in the corner, where he knows his jeans will end up eventually. But he can't think of that yet - not just yet. 

The door spins open and he whirls around, hair fluttering around his chin with the motion. It's David, he knows. But the body is still so wrong. He wears Colonel Young's skin so badly, he thinks, all grace where Young is methodical, back straight to give himself more height, not used to being barely taller than his lover. Are they really still lovers? He thinks sadly. Or is Colonel Young his lover now? These thoughts are distressing, so he pushes them away. 

When David reaches for him, the arms are too stocky, too short, but the way the fingers graze his cheek before settling on the back of his neck is familiar, is _right_. He lets David kiss him, opens his mouth and drinks the strange body in. The intensity is the same, the passion. It's easy to let those hands comb through his stringy, damp hair. He hates it, the way his hair gets so sweaty during his heats, but he knows David likes it. David likes everything about him. If only the things he likes were here too, he thinks with a pang. 

He can feel the nose pressing hard into his scent gland, and his eyes slip closed with the rush of pleasure this brings. He can smell himself, smell the way his scent covers everything, even the smell of alpha roiling off the other man. The pressure on his gland forces more scent from him, making his head swim with it. His knees buckle but David catches him. "I want you," He whispers in Colonel Young's voice, but he feels himself nodding. 

The trip to the bed is short, David practically lifting him off his feet in a neat rotation that brings his knees into contact with the flat surface. He'd never realized how strong Colonel Young really was before. Letting himself fall backwards, he lets out a soft cry. The surprisingly nimble hands make quick work of the fly of his jeans, and they go the way of his fallen shirt faster than he'd like. "It's only been a month," David is growling, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his throat (but not his scent gland). 

"I don't know why..." he whispers shakily, not quite sure why he can't stop trembling. 

"The bond is getting weaker," he answers, kissing him hard on the mouth. "Don't you feel it? It's too far; this isn't enough..."

"It has to be!" He protests, squirming under the scratching and pressing hands that paw up and down his sides. "We can't..." Whatever he was going to say vanishes when his shirt is pushed up, revealing his chest and both of his hipbones. David leans down his body, licking across one hip, teething the thin skin covering the bone there. He moans with the contact, shuddering again, from pleasure this time. Letting his eyes close, he imagines David's long, lean form, back curving as he leans down him, still fully clothed as he lays Rush nearly bare. The teeth are wrong, the mouth shaped and curved differently, but the intensity and teasing pressure of the movement is practiced in a way that is achingly familiar. 

"You're so beautiful," David whispers, clutching at his hips, squeezing a touch too roughly to be comfortable. That's all the warning he gets before something wet and wide slips into his folds. Rush screams hoarsely, hips canting upwards before the grip on them forces them back flat against the bed. David is on his knees beside the bed, pinning him down with both hands as he delves his tongue deep into the other man. Rush is moaning now, letting one arm fling up over his eyes, panting for breath. It's too much - every time they do this, it's far too much. He can feel the wetness spreading past the other man's chin and down between his own legs. It's humiliating. It's arousing. It's too much and not nearly enough. 

He begins to beg then, the soft, reedy sounds he knows David adores, pleading for more, for him to stop, for him to continue. David laps at him, eating up the slick and taste of him, drinking him down like water in a desert. Rush is sobbing now, the teasing-but-rough swipe of flesh into his most delicate places making him quake and moan. "Please!" He is crying in earnest, feeling the tears soak the skin of his arm, slipping off of it to slide down his face, staining the collar of his loose tee-shirt as an orgasm rips free of his body. 

David disengages then, licking his lips audibly as he sits back on his heels. "What do you want, Nicholas?" He growls out, voice too gritty and too low. 

"...You..." He sobs, past shame, past dignity.

"What part of me?"

"All of it!" He cries, mind too scattered to follow the other man's commanding train of thought. 

"Do you want my knot?" He asks, voice teasing and deceptively gentle, compared to how rough he's been thus far. 

"I want it _all_..." He whispers, letting his arm flop beside his head, too weak to even hold it up over himself anymore. The other one is clutching uselessly at the too-smooth blanket. "Please... David..."

Climbing onto the bed, knees pushing his trembling legs apart to settle between them, David takes hold of his chin in one too-wide hand. Rush gasps when the mouth seals over himself, shaking his head at the taste of his slick on the other man's tongue. The hand doesn't let go, fingers pinching his jaw open. He clutches at the other man's shoulders, too worn out to struggle. Releasing his aching jaw, David sooths the ache with twin soft kisses, each where his fingers had dug in only moments before. "I'm going to fuck you now, Nicholas," he whispers, pressing a kiss to his fevered forehead. "Are you going to fight me?" 

"..." He can't seem to catch his breath, gasping and crying even now. "...D'you want me to?" He asks softly.

David considers a moment, and finally leans down to lick over his scent gland, earning himself another throaty moan from the frantic omega beneath him. "No," he says, just as quietly, "I want you to come for me... But I want you to want it."

"I do!" He sobs, voice breaking on the last word.

"Good. That's very good." And he raises himself up on one arm, reaching between Rush's legs, to his swollen and dripping opening. Ignoring his hard penis, he feels inside the folds instead, letting the blunt nails of his fingers scrape ever-so-lightly against that torturously hot and sensitive flesh. Rush _screams_ and David laughs, the chuckle too low and too throaty. Rush keeps his eyes closed, tries to imagine instead.

Removing his fingers, David spreads his lips open and presses the tip against him. He can feel the skin slide back, revealing the glans, just as the whole thing _slams_ into him. He chokes on his scream this time, unable to get air into his lungs. David sets a brutal rhythm, with no grace and very little consideration. He clutches Rush around his shoulders, pinning him to the bed easily. Rush doesn't struggle, just laying there and taking the punishing force. It's just shy of painful, but he needs it too much for it to be too much. 

When he comes a second time, he can feel it building in his outer body as well. The pressure of David's shirt on his skin makes him raise his hips, rubbing himself against him. The pressure is enough, just barely, to tease his erect flesh past hardness and into full-blown pleasure. He holds his hips up, flexing his knees in an effort to keep himself there, as he comes on Young's shirt. David laughs at that, a sharp bark of a sound he didn't know Young's voice could make. "He's not going to like that," David says, amusement staining his voice as he continues to thrust in earnest. Rush doesn't care anymore, because he can feel it - the edge of the knot. 

David sinks it hard into him, wringing another breathy cry, unable to get enough air in his lungs to scream properly at this angle. It's too much, now that he's come twice in the space of a few minutes. It makes him feel battered and sore and he shudders, not sure if it's in pleasure or not. But the knot is inflating, widening and thickening and he's moaning with it, unable to keep his hips from tilting down to ease the passage and take it deeper. When it comes this time, he's more prepared for it, but it still burns and makes him cry out, shaking and writhing as David sinks Colonel Young's teeth into his scent gland again. It feels wrong, feels painful, feels like _abuse_ , but he can't stop it so he rides it out, feeling the knot lock, semen coating his insides as he comes himself another time. He whimpers and shakes his head from side to side, hair tangling in his face.

Letting go of his shoulders to comb back his matted hair, David leans down to scoop his numb legs up onto the bed. Curling around him, he embraces him as the knot stays swollen and hard inside him, tying them together. "We've got time, Nicholas," he says gently, kissing him on the corner of his mouth. "Get some sleep before I have to go."

Rush never closes his eyes, staring up at the ceiling when David's breath becomes slow and even, warming the stinging flesh of his gland. Now he feels shame.

~*~


End file.
